Friends Without Benefits
by novellanouveau
Summary: Mordecai has an unexpected encounter with an old "friend" from art college, which plants a niggling doubt regarding his tentative friendship with Benson - not to mention the sorry affair of his whole life. Slowly, they work it out together. A Christmassy fic: Mordeson with some Rigleen.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1: In a While, Crocodile**

It began on a day of frosted windows and pavements slicked treacherously under foot.

The Coffee Shop hunched its shoulders, breathing warm fog with the come and go of every customer. Its potted firs quailed in the chill, its front stoop shone glossy with frost, but inside the air hung close and warm with the bright fragrance of coffee and spiced lattes. The bitter keen of the wind and the dull drone of traffic fell away beneath the clamour of giddy voices, the chatter of clinking cutlery and the murmur of Christmas songs.

Mordecai sat hunched at his usual table, absently scrolling his biro down the margin of his notebook. His unfinished portrait glared accusingly from the page.

"Don't look at me like that, man." He eyed it warily from the corner of his gaze. The picture was unappeased. "Should never have given you such judgemental eyes," he muttered, restraining the urge to violently blot them out.

Abruptly, the door was flung open, releasing a boisterous gust of wind. The patrons shivered collectively, clutching their mugs to their chests and gratefully inhaling the steam. The door rattled noisily back into its frame, and a nasal whine sounded gratingly from the top of the stair.

"What a tacky little place."

Obligingly, the conversation lulled for a moment and the customers cast frowning, questioning glances towards the source of the commotion. On the top stair stood an elegantly appointed figure, his scaled snout poised disdainfully above the rabble. Buoyed by the momentary flutter of attention, the alligator sailed down the stairs, idly flicking his silk scarf over one narrow shoulder.

Suddenly frozen in place, Mordecai's eye twitched. _No_, he assured himself. _It couldn't be. _

_Please God or - or Father Christmas, or - or Mariah Carey - don't do this to me._

And yet, the prissy totter of heeled boots wound unerringly towards him. Mordecai's gaze bored into the sticky table top, and he silently forbade himself from moving a muscle.

_If you don't move, they can't see you... Right?_

"Is that _Mordecai_ I see?" Trilled the all too familiar voice. Mordecai's eyes fell shut in horror.

_Well, there goes that idea. Thanks Discovery Channel - what a load of B.S._

Gritting his teeth, Mordecai looked up and into a pair of rapt, startlingly green eyes. Though extraordinary, they were nothing compared to the alarming, white-lipped leer that lurked below. The lips parted - a slow, deliberate movement, baring blunt, yellowed incisors.

"It _is_ Mordecai," he breathed.

Mordecai swallowed thickly. "_Hey_, Rain. Fancy seeing you here, huh?" He made to stand, shrugging into his jacket with as much nonchalance as he could muster. "Don't get me wrong - this is like, the most amazing coincidence, man, but I actually got to take off -"

"Your coffee, Mordecai," Eileen chirruped from his elbow. One arm half strung into his coat, Mordecai froze, sheepishly eyeing the steaming coffee cup in her hands. His mouth shut with an audible _click_.

"Hmph." Rain expelled an infuriating, amused little huff from his nostrils, his expression intolerably smug. "Far be it from me to chase you away."

Mordecai opened his mouth, grappling hopelessly for something to say. Finding none, he ruefully shut it once more.

Oblivious to the tension, Eileen smiled brightly between them. "Can I get anything for your friend?"

"I'd be delighted," Rain smoothly interjected. "That is, of course, if I'm not _imposing_."

Mordecai slumped into his seat, his jacket deflating emptily about him. "C'mon, man. You could never impose."

"I hardly think so," he declared loftily, but he slid into a chair all the same, his thick, wicked looking tail draped coquettishly behind him.

Pressing his coat into Eileen's hands, Rain rattled off a ridiculously long order, whose only response was to quirk a small, bewildered smile, and scribble furiously into her notepad. Mordecai skewered his decidedly unwelcome guest with a glare.

_Rain Ray Leone: the most pretentious prick this side of the Savannah... He better give her one Hell of a tip._

Rain turned to Mordecai with an expectant, little smirk. "Peculiar little pit stop," he commented. "Of course, I'm only passing through."

Mordecai smiled tightly, his fingers picking at the table's peeling woodgrain. "Oh yeah? You kept yourself busy since college then?"

His mouth stretched grimly in another of those unreadable, yet decidedly unfriendly smiles, as though he had a secret he was simply _dying_ to withhold. "I've been positively rushed off my feet," he remarked at length.

Mordecai nodded as the silence protracted uncomfortably. Then - in what he felt to be a particularly generous overture - he nodded towards Rain's rather eccentric ensemble and grunted: "Fashion, yeah?"

With a rather pointed little flourish, Rain showily examined his nails and Mordecai noticed for the first time that thick, black talons protruded from the fingertips of his calfskin gloves.

"Wow," he grimaced. "That's - that's really something, Rain."

"Of course, with _you_ it was always your little pictures." Rain's gaze latched on Mordecai's notebook, and he slanted a supercilious eyebrow. "Doodling?" He drawled.

Mordecai slammed his hand down on the page, flushing faintly. "It's just a sketch," he muttered.

Rain tutted condescendingly. "Always so terribly insecure, Mordecai. You haven't changed one iota. I assume you are, after all, an artist now? Just like you always dreamed? Tell me you are, Mordecai. I won't hear otherwise," he proclaimed.

Mordecai's mouth twisted ruefully, and he rubbed the back of his neck. "Uh - no. Not exactly."

"Oh, dear. Oh, dear! Well, then what? A lawyer? Like your Daddy always wanted?" Mordecai shrugged. "A Professor?" Mordecai jerked his head _no_. "The founder of some tedious but miserably profitable little business venture?"

Mordecai rolled his eyes. "Dude, _what_? Don't answer that. I'm not any of those things. Also, all those things sound pretty stupid," he added petulantly. Under Rain's pointed stare, he finally heaved a sigh. "You know the park like five minutes from here?"

Rain crooked a brow, and for a moment Mordecai relished his surprise. "You own a _park_?" The moment was short-lived.

"What? No, man. People don't just _own_ parks," he scoffed impatiently. "I work there."

The silence swelled pregnantly, until: "_Oh_."

Mordecai grit his teeth. "You know, it's actually a pretty sweet deal," he insisted. "Work's easy, pay's _insane_." Not quite a bluff - they practically earned pennies. That _was_ insane. "Plus the guys are - you know, the guys are great. It's practically like we're getting paid to hang out."

"You _do_ amaze me. And here I'd been led to believe that manual labour was the demeaning work of end-of-the-line penny grubbers," he simpered. "So what of your colleagues? Real men of culture, I presume?"

Mordecai thought furiously. "Culture? Oh, yeah. _Big time_. It's just like college, really," he blustered. "This one guy's like a real eccentric, and a musical prodigy. He's way old school - you should see him freak out on the harpsichord." Dimly aware he was rambling, Mordecai ran an agitated hand through his hair. "'Course, Benson - that's my boss - he doesn't exactly let us goof off or anything. Or you know I'd be like, uh, _painting_, like all the time."

"Sounds like your Boss is a royal oppressor," Rain drawled. "Glad I've never had one."

"What, Benson?" Mordecai shrugged. "No way. I mean, sure, he's got a stick up his ass, but he's actually a pretty good guy. We - you know, we hang out and stuff."

At this, one of Rain's finely etched eyebrows crawled up his forehead. "You don't seriously believe you're _friends_ with your employer, do you?" At Mordecai's blank look, he tittered. "Oh, Mordecai, you're adorably naive."

"What's the big deal?"

"No employer would seriously extend friendship towards an underling," he scoffed. "It simply isn't done." Mordecai frowned and Rain imperiously lifted a finger. "Now, don't misinterpret my meaning. I've gotten friendly with a Professor or two in my past," he gave an elegant shrug. "A wealthy investor, _occasionally_. I mean, who hasn't?"

"Jesus, dude," Mordecai grimaced. "That's - that's like a whole different thing."

Rain heaved a dramatic sigh, as though Mordecai's very presence was exhausting his patience. "Mordecai, you simply cannot be _friends_ with your Boss. It's a conflict of interests."

Unconvinced, Mordecai shrugged. "We are though. Kind of."

"You aren't though," Rain assured him. "Not really."

Mordecai opened his mouth to protest, but Rain carelessly overrode him in that same, superior tone: "Just wait, Mordecai. You'll soon see he's nothing but a money grubbing little tyrant."

At that, Rain swept to his feet, gathering about him an air of triumph that set Mordecai's teeth on edge.

"You know, I really enjoyed this little catch up. I'll be sure to keep in touch."

Noticing his impending departure, Eileen darted forwards. Fighting valiantly not to trip over his ridiculous coat nor spill his extravagant coffee, she made a slightly ridiculous picture. Mordecai eyed her in commiseration.

Barely affording her a cursory glance, Rain tugged his coat from her grip and - slipping into it in one fluid motion - he swanned away.

Eileen and Mordecai watched him go, each with a faintly dazed expression. Eileen looked uncertainly towards his untouched coffee, before shrugging, and taking a tentative sip. Distracted, Mordecai's gaze lingered on the unmistakably _crocodile_ leather boots that clad Rain's legs like a second skin. He grimaced faintly, and for a moment remembered Rain as he'd known him last: screaming on the picket lines of an animal rights protest, draped in a scarlet-paint splattered, faux fur rug. He hadn't much liked him back then, either. Then, with a last bluster of rattling wind, Rain was gone.


	2. Chapter 2

Dusk was crowding close on the horizon when Mordecai returned. Far-away voices sounded from the house, and he could just make out the dim shapes of people moving through the trees.

As he drew nearer, he ruefully tucked his face against his chest, bracing himself for the inevitable barrage of questions. It wasn't necessarily unorthodox for him to take a three hour lunch, but without Rigby in tow... _Well_, that was bound to raise some eyebrows.

With every step, the grass crunched underfoot, noisily heralding his return. As though summoned, Benson's head snapped around to regard him. He glared from the top rung of a ladder, poised precariously against a tremendous oak tree; a thick coil of Christmas lights was strung over his shoulder. Muscleman, slumped against the foot of the ladder, waggled an eyebrow at Mordecai with a suggestiveness he wouldn't even begin to interpret.

"You're late." Benson snapped. "Where have you been?"

Without slowing his pace, Mordecai shrugged. "Out," was his clipped response.

Taken aback, Benson swung around to gape after him, and the ladder wobbled perilously. Muscleman yawned, unconcerned, and Hi-Fives - lit up like a Christmas decoration - anxiously shot out a hand to steady the frame.

Heedless of the murmurs littered behind him, Mordecai sloped up the front porch, his hands stuffed in his pockets. He was scarcely through the door before Rigby's head emerged over the sofa, his expression warring on suspicious.

"Hey, man." His tone - _dangerously_ light - hinted at some secret test, and Mordecai simply jerked his head in response. Rigby made an exasperated sound, and clumsily swung to his feet over the back of the sofa. "Where in the H have you been?"

Mordecai arched a brow, shooting him a dismissive glance. "Dude, you sound like my Mom."

"Well, you sound like a baby," he retorted. Scampering ahead of him, he planted himself in front of the staircase. "What's the matter with you, man? You're, like, PMSing all over the place."

Mordecai snorted humorlessly, easily brushing Rigby aside. "Dude, you don't even know what that means."

"I do so!" Rigby screeched after him.

Mordecai's voice floated emptily down the stairs: "Just drop it, man."

Finally alone, Mordecai kicked their bedroom door shut behind him, and deflated gracelessly onto his bed. The springs squeaked faintly in protest, and his notebook fell from his pocket, forgotten, to the floor.

Dimly, a muffled curse sounded from outside his window, punctuated by Benson's irate yell:

"Dammit, Muscleman! All I said was hold the ladder - it's not rocket science! OK, alright . . . Nobody panic. Hi-Fives hand me the ladder. _No_, keep the ladder on the ground - no, I mean keep _one_ end on the - You know what, forget it. Get Skips - just - get Skips."

Mordecai awoke from a fitful doze to find the room filled with shifting, purple shadows. He'd been having the most incredible dream, yet try as he might, the details eluded him. Blearily, he recalled the bright flash of camera bulbs, their light sparking white hot, and something else - the redolent scent of turpentine... His brow furrowed, chasing the last, vibrant flash - but abruptly the image was gone.

Mordecai stiffly propped himself up against his pillows. The window was aglow with warm, yellow light, and he blinked groggily, rubbing at his sleep-dimmed eyes. Muffled chatter sounded from the lawn, and he sighed, grudgingly rolling from his mattress with a whine of bedsprings.

_Back to reality, Mordecai_.

He slouched against the window frame, the glass startlingly cool against his cheek. "Huh," he muttered.

Beneath him, the park was alight in a tableau of colour. Christmas lights were strung through the trees like an intricate, glowing web. The gang stood illuminated by the glow, stood back to admire their handiwork. Squinting, he could make out the shape of Benson, stood with his hands on his hips. Muscleman jeered noisily, whipping his shirt about his head in a faint, white blur. Even Rigby had joined them, he noted absently; from the looks of it he was sat atop a plastic snowman's shoulders. Mordecai snorted, his breath beading on the glass.

"Alright, nice job everyone." Benson called, rubbing his hands together for warmth. Slumped against the window sill, Mordecai distractedly watched his breath fog the air as he spoke. "Everyone head back inside to warm up!" A muffled cheer sounded from the group and Mordecai ducked guiltily away from the window, cringing at the thought of being spotted.

Whilst chatter and raucous laughter resonated from downstairs, Mordecai ensconced himself in his bedroom, scrawling uselessly in his sketchpad.

Finally, the noise dispersed, and Mordecai heard Rigby's footfalls scamper up the staircase. He swiftly bent his head to his book, feigning deep concentration.

Rigby flopped carelessly onto his trampoline, bouncing to an idle, squeaking still. After a long pause, he grunted: "You quit feeling sorry for yourself yet?"

"Yep." He was silent for a moment, internally debating with himself - then: "Hey, Rigby." His tone was cautious. "Listen, man, there's somethin-" He was interrupted by a low, guttural snore. Mordecai's head snapped up. Sprawled on his back, Rigby was fast asleep, one arm draped gracelessly over his face. Mordecai rolled his eyes and threw down his book.

_So much for biting the bullet . . ._

Wary of waking the whole household, he tread gingerly across the hall, carefully overstepping the creaky floorboard. Abruptly, he was stopped in his tracks by a faint, muffled snuffling. Curious, he turned, his eyes latching instantly on the thin beam of light spilling under the office door. He frowned: _Benson was still here? _It was past midnight. That was excessive, even for him.

Mordecai eased open the door as quietly as he could manage, and peered around its edge. At the sight of Benson, keeled over on his desk, he stifled a slightly hysterical guffaw. A sheaf of papers were scattered messily about his desk, and amongst them all lay Benson, his head resting in a puddle of lamplight.

Mordecai knocked gingerly on the doorframe and Benson instantly startled upright, his expression stricken, a stray piece of paper stuck to his cheek. Mordecai barked a laugh, surprisingly loud in the silence, and Benson scowled, irritably swatting the offending sheet from his face.

"Dude, what are you still doing here?" Mordecai snickered.

Benson groaned, stiffly levering his neck on his shoulders. "What time is it?" He grumbled, his voice hoarse from sleep.

"Like midnight, man. Lemme guess," he smirked, "your cat threw you out?" Benson skewered him with a look and Mordecai shrugged, abruptly self-conscious. "I mean, like, no hot date or anything?" He joked feebly. This loosed a surprised bark of laughter from Benson, who appeared instantly appalled by the outburst.

Shaking his head absently, he pushed to his feet and stretched, eliciting the faint grind of metal on metal. "I should take off," he muttered.

Lounging in the doorway, Mordecai shrugged. "Yeah, I guess," he hedged. Then, before he could lose his nerve: "Benson, we're . . . _friends_, right?"

Benson's jaw worked reflexively; his eyes narrowed. "What do you want?" He asked finally. Mordecai winced.

_Okay, so that's not a __**great**_ _start . . ._

"Nothing!" He blustered. "I was just - I mean, it was just a question." He broke off, exasperated, and turned to go. "Never mind. It was stupid."

Unconvinced, Benson eyed him critically, until Mordecai grew hot under his stare. "What?" He snapped, when he could stand the scrutiny no longer.

"There's something off about you, Mordecai. You're not _you_." Suddenly flustered, he blustered on: "I mean you're not - I _mean_, Rigby . . . was saying something," he finished weakly, his eyes flashing frustration.

"Sure," Mordecai offered, trying valiantly to follow the thread of conversation. Now, it was his turn to peer closely at Benson. His boss refused to quail under his stare, and instead quirked a small, cynical smile.

"Did something happen on your three hour lunch break?"

Taken aback, Mordecai simply stared for a moment, his mouth hung ajar in a no doubt gormless expression.

"Um, yeah, I guess," he admitted. Benson watched him expectantly, and Mordecai chafed the back of his neck, avoiding his eye. "Just ran into a guy I was kind of hoping never to see again. From college," he added belatedly, when the silence stretched between them. "Kinda made me feel pretty crappy about how everything worked out. That's - that's all," he finished lamely.

Benson stared at him for so long Mordecai felt an embarrassed flush crawl up his neck. Finally, he zipped up his coat in a pointedly final gesture, and Mordecai shifted awkwardly, sensing his cue to leave. As he started towards the door, Benson glanced at his watch and heaved a long-suffering sigh. Faltering on the threshold, Mordecai glanced uncertainly over his shoulder.

"Come on, then."

Grimacing, Benson took a sip of the stewed, bitter coffee that had been sat on the stove for God only knew how long. Mordecai's expectant gaze probed into the side of his face and he hummed thoughtfully, privately relishing his impatience.

"I don't know," he said finally.

Mordecai threw up his hands in exasperation, his lukewarm coffee sloshing dangerously. "Whaddaya mean _I don't know_!" He exclaimed. "The dream's obvious - it means I'm an artist." He paused. "Well, you know - a _successful_ one."

Benson shrugged: "I don't know," he said again, and quashed a smirk when a muscle in Mordecai's cheek _jumped_. "Painters aren't exactly hounded by the paparazzi." He scratched his chin idly: "I mean, most artists don't really come into their own until they're dead."

Mordecai stared at him for a moment in silence, before shaking his head. "Wow, Benson, thanks for the pep talk," he said drily.

Benson's mouth ticked up in a smirk. "If you wanted _pep_, you came to the wrong man."

There was a moment's pregnant silence while Benson rummaged in the pocket of his parka, before producing a crumpled carton of cigarettes with a small noise of triumph. He slid one in the corner of his mouth and sparked a match behind his cupped hand.

Mordecai nodded towards the fairy lights strung out before them, glowing warmly in the dark. He clutched his mug closer to his chest in a vain bid for warmth, the chill front stoop prickling his skin to goosebumps. The cold nipped incessantly, and the reheated coffee was bound to keep him wired all night, yet despite himself, Mordecai felt a strange sense of contentment he couldn't quite explain.

"You know, it's actually kinda pretty."

Benson grunted around the cigarette: "It took long enough." The glow of the match wavered out on a breeze as the silence expanded comfortably.

Mordecai had slipped into his thoughts when Benson finally broke the silence.

"I wanted to be a drummer, you know."

Mordecai glanced at him from the corner of his eye, surprised to hear him share of his own accord. "Yeah, I know." When Benson made no move to continue the conversation, Mordecai looked to him pointedly. "Were you gonna follow that up with some advice or . . . ?"

Benson cocked his head, apparently deep in thought. "I'll think of something," he decided.

Mordecai's mouth curled in a grin that Benson found himself returning, though he swiftly hid it in his coffee cup. Unfooled, Mordecai turned back to the sky, sprawled vast and glittering before them.

"Let me know what you come up with."


End file.
